Emily choked on her stuffed mushroom.
The room went quiet, the kind of silence that feels like standing on thin ice, waiting for it to crack. I swallowed hard, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“I just meant that different silhouettes flatter different figures,” I managed. “Something A-line might be better.”
Megan thumbed through the magazine with a small frown. “But that’s not really the aesthetic I’m going for.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Mia,” my mom waved dismissively. “She has plenty of time to tone up before the wedding. What’s it now, six months? That’s more than enough time if you’re disciplined.”
Suddenly, I was ten years old again, standing in front of the mirror while Mom pinched the baby fat at my waist and told me we needed to be more careful about sweets.
“Heaven forbid someone with actual curves ruin your precious wedding album,” Emily muttered.
“That’s not what I meant.” Mom protested, though her tone suggested otherwise.
Megan looked between us, clearly annoyed “Can we please just focus on the dresses? I only have tonight to decide before the bridal shop needs my final choice.”
“Okay then.” I tried to muster up some enthusiasm. “What other styles are you considering?”
Megan pulled out another magazine, this one opened to a page showing a slightly less form-fitting option. “This one’s nice too. It has a bit more flow to it.”
I examined the image, relief washing over me. The dress was a delicate chiffon with a sweetheart neckline and natural waist. There was a good chance I wouldn’t look like a whale in it. “I really like this one.”
“You do?” Megan seemed surprised. “But it’s not as dramatic as the first one.”
“It’s elegant,” I offered. “And the fabric would move beautifully in photos, especially for an outdoor wedding.”
My mother peered over Megan’s shoulder. “It’s certainly more forgiving.”
I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled. Beside me, Emily tensed, ready to launch another defense, but I gave a tiny head shake. Not worth it.
Aunt Monica appeared at my shoulder with a plate of cheese and crackers. “You should try some of this brie, Mia. It’s delicious.”
The way she said it made it clear that she thought I shouldn’t try the brie, and that she was fucking baiting me. I took a large piece and placed it on my plate, maintaining eye contact as I did so.
“Thanks. I love brie.”
Emily stifled a laugh behind the bridal magazine Megan had given her. Then she gasped with excitement, flipping the magazine around so we could all see the page. “What aboutthese? They’re convertible dresses. You can style them different ways.”
Thank fuck for Emily. “Wow! They look great!”
Mom frowned. “But will they photograph well? All that fabric bunching in different ways could look messy.”
Aunt Monica took the magazine from Emily. “Let’s keep looking.”
The rest of dinner passed in the same way and by the time dessert was served I was mentally exhausted.
Mom, cutting a tiny sliver of cake, flicked me a look. “So, how’s work? Still managing that sales team?”
The way she said “managing” made it sound like a temporary position, something I was trying out rather than a role I’d earned through years of hard work.
“Yes, still managing,” I said. “My team exceeded targets again this quarter.”
“That’s nice, dear.” She nodded absently. “And are you seeing anyone?”
I felt Emily kick me under the table.
“Not currently, no.” I pushed a grape around my plate.
